


The BVHSMB vs the ISA

by vagusnerve



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: Gen, anyway shoutout to this fic for breaking my writer's block, because yes i am a band kid, this might be the weirdest thing i ever have or ever will write, very partially based on my own time in marching band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagusnerve/pseuds/vagusnerve
Summary: The Blue Valley High School Marching Band completely accidentally sorta kinda defeats the ISA and ruins their plan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	The BVHSMB vs the ISA

**Author's Note:**

> Quick glossary of marching band terms (based on my own personal experience): 
> 
> step off: the first step of a move (always with your left foot)
> 
> drum major(s): the student(s) that conduct the marching band
> 
> roll-stepping: how you march, basically an exaggerated roll from heel to toe that keeps your upper half stable enough to play an instrument
> 
> tank drill: when the band forms a rectangle and then follow each other around the edge of it
> 
> company front: marching formation where the band stands side by side in a horizontal line together
> 
> 8-to-5: standard marching band step, stands for 8 steps for every 5 yards
> 
> horn pop: when the band members raise their instruments and aim them towards the top of the stands
> 
> high brass: trumpets and mellophones
> 
> battery: the part of the drumline that marches (snares, tenors, bass drums)

Marching band practice had been going on for three hours, ever since the final bell was rung, and nothing was going right. People were stepping off on their right feet, no one was watching the drum major, and everyone seemed to have completely forgotten what roll-stepping was. The band director had started banging her microphone on the scaffolding she stood on top of in the vain hopes that it would help people keep their feet in time. 

The band director looked down at the band, currently sprawled out across the grass drinking water, and sighed. 

“Alright, people!” she called. “One last run through before practice is over. Don’t forget, we have a competition this weekend, so _please_ treat this one as if the judges were sitting in the stands.”

The drum major clapped their hands, and the band members gathered their instruments and ran to their first mark. 

“And whatever happens,” said the band director, “what do you not do?”

“Stop!” the band yelled back. 

“Good. Let’s begin.” She nodded at the drum major, who put their whistle in their mouth and began counting off. 

At first, the run through went well as the band moved with renewed vigor. It wasn’t perfect, but the band director’s headache wasn’t worsening, which was a significant improvement. As the band moved through their tank drill flawlessly, she even let herself believe nothing more would go wrong. 

Disaster struck towards the end of the third movement. The band had hit the rotation from their individual vertical lines into a company front flawlessly, and as they hit the horn pop on their step-off into the best 8-to-5 she had seen out of them all day, the band director smiled. The smile melted off her face seconds later as the ground began to rumble. She grabbed the railing of the scaffolding and held on for dear life, hoping both that the apparent earthquake would be over soon and that the band would heed her directions to never stop. On the latter point, at least, her wish was granted. The band played on, their steps slightly more unsteady, but they hit the crescendo nicely. 

The rumbling, unfortunately, did not stop. It only increased, and the band director could only watch in horror as the football field split, panels sliding away from the 50 yard line to create a massive hole 20 yards across. Immediately, the entire middle of the line, including most of the high brass and the entire battery, fell through, creating the unmistakable clanging of metal meeting metal. The band played on. 

The reason for this sound became evident moments later, as a massive tower with multiple satellite dishes emerged from the ground. Some of the dishes appeared dented or misaligned, probably due to falling-band-member damage, and the band director saw several band members holding onto either the dishes or the metal pole of the tower itself for dear life. The band played on. 

There was the sound of machinery powering up and then—

The band director blinked her eyes a couple of times, feeling distinctly as though she was missing something, and then immediately covered her ears. The flutes and clarinets were hitting the high note at the end of the show, and not only were there not enough voices to fill out the harmony, leaving it sounding more exposed than usual, but it seemed to be at odds with the frequency the satellites must have been broadcasting. The blue waves of energy emanating from them were pulsing rapidly, and the band director watched as the satellites began sparking, before powering down and dropping out of their ready position. 

The band finished the show with one final horn pop, before dropping down to attention as the drum major cut them off. The drum major turned around and looked at the band director. 

The band director opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn’t form words. She cleared her throat. “At ease!” she called. 

Immediately, instruments were abandoned on the grass as the band rushed towards the satellites, the band director finding she did not have the energy to scold them for their carelessness as she rushed down from the scaffolding to join them. 

The band members that were stuck on the satellites themselves were rapidly helped off, and the band director laid down on the grass and peered down into the hole. She could just barely make out the bottom, which appeared to be filled with strange machinery. 

“Hello?” she yelled. “Is everyone okay down there?”

“We’re okay!” a voice replied. “One of the bass drums is ruined because it landed on what looks like Mr. King in a weird green costume, and everyone’s a little bruised, especially one of the trumpets who landed on some dude in a hood, but we’re all alive and most of the instruments are intact!”

The band director breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, sit tight! We’ll find a way to get you guys out.” She turned to the drum major. “Run and find the janitor and the principal for help, and tell them to call both the police and an ambulance.” They nodded and ran off. She turned to the rest of the band, who were now watching her expectedly. “Pack it up, guys,” she said finally. “That was our last run through of the day. Practice is over.”

As the students gathered their instruments and headed for the sideline, the band director looked at the hole and the satellites protruding from it one last time and sighed. She didn’t think she would be getting a straight answer on what had just happened anytime soon, if at all.

**Author's Note:**

> this evolved out of a discussion in the hournite discord server, so shoutout to them for that. also the band director is very partially based on mine


End file.
